


The Worst Part of the Job

by windsorblue



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsorblue/pseuds/windsorblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson and Bobbi have to inform Jemma's family that she's missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst Part of the Job

**Author's Note:**

> One more fic before Season 3 starts...the names of Jemma's dad and sister are made up, but the description of her dad and her cover story is inspired by Issue 2 of the Agents of SHIELD comic.

He adjusted his tie and tugged on the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, and then his coat sleeves - just so. His mother had often reminded (lectured) him during the more rowdy-for-Nebraska parts of his teen years about the importance of keeping up appearances, and she hadn’t been entirely wrong. There was a value to it, especially when there was a deeply troubled and financially crippled international espionage and security organization looking to you to be the Guy in Charge. So even though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an unmedicated eight hours of sleep; and phantom pains from the left hand that wasn’t there anymore occasionally threatened to knock him off his feet; and the fact that the person he’d considered his right hand was off-base and off the grid and had been for weeks made his gut twist and his heart ache in ways he didn’t know what do do with; Phil Coulson looked himself in the mirror each morning and adjusted his tie, and tugged on his cuffs. He mentally put those long-term problems into a background task file, so he could focus on the short-term problems of the day - there was never a day without short-term problems, after all - remembered his mother’s wise words (lectures) about keeping up appearances, looked himself in the eye, and practiced a small, reassuring smile. Just so.

The first person he saw every morning was Skye. Daisy. Dammit - there was another dollar for the Daisy jar. He was pretty sure she planned her day that way, and it was about the only thing that made him smile for real. He would incline his head in a slight, mock-serious nod - “Agent Johnson, what do you hear?” - and she would do the same - “Nothin’ but the rain, sir,” - and then she’d start the actual business of the day. If she had files to give him, she would hand them over. If she had concerns to voice, she would voice them. If she had rumors to share, she would share them, with a grin and a twinkle in her eye. 

“Agent Johnson,” Coulson said. “What do you hear?”

“Nothin’ but the rain, sir,” Daisy replied. 

“I’m so glad someone else here was a BSG fan.”

Daisy grinned. “I’m pretty sure one of the Koenigs would play that game with you, Boss.”

“I think they’re still pissed off about the ending.”

“Ah…blistering fan-rage knows no bounds. Weaver and Bobbi were looking for you.”

They were walking by the science labs just then. Through the window Coulson could see the junior techs doing their work. Nobody looked to be slacking off, but without Simmons there, the entire science operation felt slow and dull; like all the wits had been sucked out of the room. He nodded. “Has there been a breakthrough?”

Daisy’s mouth pressed into a thin frown. “No. Nothing substantial.”

Coulson nodded again. “How’s Fitz doing?”

“About how you’d expect.” Daisy paused. “Do I have to say I’m worried about him, or…?”

“Nah, I’d pretty much assumed.” Coulson elbowed her and gave her a small smile. “He’ll be okay once he finds her.”

“What if he can’t?”

“Pretty sure he’s the only one who can.” They rounded the corner, walking in step. “Any more ideas as to what that thing is?”

“The most popular theory is that it’s a portal; but there’s a lot of debate as to where is leads - my vote is for somewhere around the Kree home world, wherever that is - and whether or not forcing it open is going to, you know, destroy the Earth or something.” Daisy looked at Coulson, and Coulson felt her youth smack him upside the head. Too young for all this turmoil, but then what else had she ever known? “I went to visit Cal yesterday, just to see how he was doing.”

Coulson’s eyebrow arched up. “Oh?”

“Yeah…he’s still pretty well TAHITI’d. I was kind of hoping it was wearing off, and that we could get him in here and get some more details about that damn rock. Is that terrible? That I’d sacrifice my own father’s happiness to help find Simmons right now?”

Coulson smiled again. “It’s not terrible at all.” 

Around another corner, and there were Weaver, Bobbi, and Mack, standing outside the room where it had happened. He’d seen the video - hell, they’d all seen the video; just one viewing was enough to burn the image of Simmons screaming and clawing at the floor into his nightmares forever - but he’d made himself watch it dozens more times, watching with an eye for clues, evidence, maybe some dumb luck hints about what had actually happened to her. All the re-watching had done was make his nightmares more potent. The room’s windows were littered with schematics and equations, scribbled on the glass in dry-erase markers - bathroom-wall epithets against astrophysics, multi-verse theory, and the time-space continuum rendered in red, blue, and black. Fitz paced in perpetual motion, back and forth inside, and Coulson remembered a long-ago trip to a zoo. The lions dozed in the sun; the tigers hid behind the foliage in their enclosure, but the mountain lions and the panthers - those were the ones that paced along the perimeters of their pens, watching people outside as they passed, calculating how to get out and raise a little hell. 

Fitz moved like a mountain lion - ready to raise hell, crack open it’s gates, stomp inside and take back what was his. And even though it was terrible, Coulson couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit proud of him.

Weaver was the first to notice their approach. “Director Coulson,” she said.

“Agent Weaver,” he replied, nodding. “I hear you and Agent Morse have been looking for me.”

“Indeed we have.” Weaver paused like she was gathering her thoughts, or maybe her nerve. “Sir…Simmons has been missing for just over a month now…”

Coulson cocked his head slightly. “I hope you’re not about to suggest that I order Fitz to give up on finding her, because that’s not gonna happen…”

“No, no - that’s not what I was about to suggest at all. No one is suggesting that. It’s just…protocol dictates…” Weaver swallowed, then glanced over to Bobbi.

“Sir,” Bobbi said, “It’s time to notify her parents.”

Coulson said nothing for a moment, and then said, “Oh.” He looked through the window at Fitz, stalking back and forth, eyes never leaving that terrible rock. He turned back to Weaver - to Bobbi - to Mack, with his arms crossed over his chest and to Skye - Daisy - dammit! - all waiting for him to say something. Coulson nodded, and said “I suppose you’re right.” The weight of the moment hit him in the gut - notifying the family added a layer of finality that he hadn’t really been prepared to face just yet; but Weaver was correct - it needed to be done, and not just because it was protocol. “I’ll be wheels up within the hour to talk to her father personally. Mack, you’re in charge of the base while I’m gone.”

“Yessir,” Mack said.

Weaver nodded. “Thank you, Sir - I think that’s best.”

“I wouldn’t mind the company, Agent Weaver, if you’d like to tag along. I know Simmons…” He paused, because the truth of how much Weaver cared for Simmons and Fitz both would have been embarrassing for her to discuss in front of others, even when it was so clearly evident. “…is special to you.” 

She took a deep breath. “I would actually like to go with you, and I feel I have a duty to, but at the same time…” Weaver looked through the glass at Fitz, and the heartache on her face reminded Coulson of his mother after his dad had died, pushing aside her own grief to help her son get through his.

“I’ll go, if that’s okay with you, Sir.” Bobbi said. She gave Weaver a small smile. “Fitz needs you a lot more than he needs me.”

Weaver frowned. “Agent Morse, it’s not as if you’re unschooled in the hard sciences…”

“My specialty is biology. If you were dissecting things, I’d be useful. But what Fitz is working on in there is…” She glanced at the equations and notations scrawled on the windows and shook her head. “…way above my pay grade. The only things I’m good for when it comes to theoretical astrophysics are cheerleading and reaching stuff on the high shelves. I’m pretty sure Mack can handle those duties while I’m gone.”

“When it comes to reaching stuff on the high shelves,” Mack said, “I’m a pro.”

“Show-off,” Daisy muttered.

Bobbi reached out to touch Weaver’s arm. “Like I said, Fitz needs you more than he needs me. Not to mention that he likes you a hell of a lot more than he likes me. This part is pretty much the only thing I can do to help right now.”

Weaver smiled at Bobbi. “Thank you.”

Bobbi smiled back. “No problem.” 

—

Somewhere over the Atlantic, Coulson handed Bobbi the copy of Simmons’ personnel file he’d been flipping through. She read through it quickly but thoroughly, her eyebrows raising at a couple of places, nodding once or twice at others. “Simmons shot Sitwell with an Icer?”

Coulson smiled. “Yeah. That was a fun day.”

“I’m sure he deserved it…weaselly little HYDRA bastard.” She turned a page and her eyebrows shot up again. “Her dad’s an executive VP at Roxxon Oil? That figures…I always got the feeling she came from money…and her sister is in the legal department…Dad can’t have been too thrilled about her joining SHIELD, I’ll bet.”

“He doesn’t know.” 

Bobbi looked up fully from the file, her head cocked slightly. “Excuse me?”

“Her family thinks she’s been working as a corporate party planner,” Coulson said. 

“Again - excuse me?”

Coulson grinned a little. “All this time you guys have been hassling her about being a terrible liar - you were wrong. She’s been lying to them since she entered the Academy. And it’s cost her - her siblings are barely speaking to her, and her dad’s been threatening to disown her. Here she is trying to keep them safe, and they think she’s thrown away all that education on a silly, unimportant job - every time she talks to her dad, it ends in an argument. She’s not a bad liar; she just has to do it all the time and she really, really hates it.”

“That’s why you chose her to go undercover at HYDRA…” Bobbi said. 

Coulson nodded. “She’s proven she can handle herself while pretending to be something she’s not.” He paused for a moment. “Gotta admit, there’s a part of me that’s reluctant to out her to them. Seems a shame to burn a perfectly good false identity.”

“Yeah, but…is Simmons the corporate party planner really a good false identity?” Bobbi drew air quotes around the word “good”.

Coulson shrugged. “Sure, she could have given them a better career story, but it seems to have worked well enough.”

“I guess you can’t argue with success.” Bobbi nodded.

“Exactly.” Coulson was quiet for a long moment while Bobbi went back to her reading, and then he said, “Thanks for coming with me.”

Bobbi looked up again and smiled. “Thanks for letting me. I was getting a little stir-crazy at the base.”

Coulson nodded. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Getting better. I should be ready to go back to field duty soon.”

“Is Weaver okay?”

Bobbi sighed. “She’s trying to be. You know, she just adores Simmons, and Fitz as well. She tries not to show it, but…well…”

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious.”

“Right. So this is a lot for her. In fact, the entire year or so has been a lot for her, but I think finding Fitzsimmons alive and well and still on SHIELD’s side was a huge weight off her shoulders. And then to have this happen…I feel terrible for her - she’s trying so hard to help Fitz, but he’s so damn smart; a lot of the time she’s playing catch-up ball just to try to keep up with him, so she’s pretty frustrated. She even said to me the other day that the one person who could help him best was the one stuck inside the rock.”

Coulson frowned slightly. “Ouch.”

“Yeah…I don’t know, Phil - do you really think there’s any hope of finding Simmons alive and okay? I mean, I don’t know if Skye told you this, but…”

“Daisy.”

“…dammit!”

“I know, I’ve already put two dollars in the jar today.”

“Anyway, Daisy got hold of Lincoln long enough to ask him what he knew about the rock, and he said all he was told was that it was dangerous to their kind. So if it took Simmons, does that mean she’s like them? And if she is, what’s she going to be like when we find her?”

“I don’t know,” Coulson shrugged. “I guess we’re just going to have to get her back to find out.”

“So you think there’s a chance.”

“I think Fitz will make sure there’s a chance.”

Bobbi shook her head. “I hope you’re right.”

“Yeah,” said Coulson. “So do I.”

—

The architecture was expectedly austere, the decor clean and corporate - glass, stainless steel, bright white paint, polished black leather, and marbled grey countertops. Variations on Roxxon’s logo served as the art on the walls, and Coulson spared a thought for his high school art teacher - some people really did buy art just because it matched the couch. Flat screens positioned throughout the lobby ran the current slate of Roxxon’s commercials and video press releases - lots of dolphins, polar bears, and smiling families romping through flowery meadows; no oil drills or sea birds covered in raw crude. No wonder Simmons hadn’t wanted to step into her father’s wingtips.

“And to think,” Coulson said, “People say SHEILD’s decorative tastes are unimaginative.”

“It is very shiny in here,” Bobbi replied. “There must be custodians whose only job is to wipe fingerprints off of things.”

Coulson snorted. He stepped up to the receptionist desk and put on his best authoritative-yet-unmemorable smile. “Hi. Director Phil Coulson and Agent Barbara Morse of SHIELD - here to see Reginald Simmons, please.”

The receptionist looked down her glasses at him, and then at her computer screen. “Do you have an appointment, Director Coulson?”

“We don’t, but it’s a personal matter of some urgency. We’re here about his daughter.”

The receptionist cocked her head. “I see…one moment please, sir.” She tapped at her keyboard for a few moments, waited for another few, and the started tapping away again. At the end of that she stood up, reaching into a drawer to pull out a pair of badges labelled “Visitor”, each hanging on a black lanyard with the Roxxon Oil logo printed on it in white. “Here you are, sir - you’ll want to go up to the eighteenth floor. Mr. Simmons’ office will be the first set of glass doors on your right.”

“Thank you,” Coulson said. He handed Bobbi a badge and said, “Apparently we needed lanyards.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes, but put it on.

The elevator doors opened onto a short foyer that could have been a clone of the bottom floor, decor-wise, except that the logo on the wall here was rendered in a dark yellowish-green - the shade of green used by every big corporation on the planet to indicate they were concerned about the environment.

“How many hours do you suppose have been spent test-marketing that color?” Coulson said. 

“All.” Bobbi replied. “All the hours.”

The first set of glass doors to their right bore the name: “Reginald Simmons, Vice President of Product Development” in small frosted letters, and just next to those doors was another receptionist’s desk - the last line of defense, apparently. This receptionist was a few years younger than the one downstairs, and wore more expensive shoes. “May I help you?” 

“Yes, hi. Director Coulson and Agent Morse of SHIELD, here to see Mr. Simmons.”

“I understand you’re here about his daughter?”

Coulson barely had a chance to respond when the door to the office swung open with an almost violent force. “Are these the SHIELD agents?” Mr. Simmons had a voice that carried. He was half a head taller than Bobbi - broad-shouldered, well-fed, and impeccably tailored, with a thick head of hair and beard that had gone gray without interference. “Here about my Bridget, are you? Honestly, I can’t go six months without some state agency or NGO trying to pilfer that girl away.”

“Actually…”

Bobbi heard the sharp clicking of heels against the floor coming up behind her. “Dad, are these the SHIELD agents?” There was no mistaking Jemma’s sister - her hair was a bit darker, her voice a little deeper, her resemblance to her father a little stronger - her suit was far more expensive than anything Bobbi had seen Jemma wear and she was pretty sure Jemma would have scoffed at the impracticality of wearing heels that high in the workplace - but her eyes were the same and the unflappable air about her was the same; the certainty in her posture that came from being utterly confident in her work - that was the same. She reached a hand out to Bobbi and smiled one of Jemma’s smiles. “Hello, I’m Bridget Simmons.”

Bobbi shook her hand. “Agent Morse. This is Director Coulson.” 

“Director - well!” She shook Coulson’s hand as well. “It’s quite flattering that you’ve come all this way, of course, and I’m really very honored that you thought of me, but I’m perfectly happy here at Roxxon Oil and I’m afraid I have no intention of leaving my position to come save the world with you.”

Bobbi’s eyebrows shot up. A tight, small smile crossed over Coulson’s face and Bobbi remembered Izzy - Izzy used to do this thing where, if someone was acting like an ass, she’d say to them, “Let me tell you a couple of things about yourself,” and then she’d verbally eviscerate them - and now here was Coulson, smiling like Izzy used to when she was on the verge of telling someone about themselves. 

(Bobbi had been told about herself only once - when she and Hunter were getting divorced. Hunter had been told about himself more times than Bobbi could remember.) 

Coulson looked Mr. Simmons dead in the eye. “We’re actually here about your other daughter, Jemma.”

The bluster bled out of both Mr. Simmons and his daughter. “Oh,” Mr. Simmons. He went from cocky grin to bitter frown at break-neck speed. “What’s she done?”

“Her duty. Always and unfailingly” Coulson gestured to the desk and chairs behind Mr. Simmons’ clean glass doors. “May we come in and talk in private?”

“…Certainly.” He stepped aside to let Coulson and Bobbi in, and Bridget said, “I suppose I should get back to my office, then…”

Bobbi put a hand on her shoulder. “You really ought to stay,” she said, unsmiling. 

Bridget’s eyebrows went up, but she said nothing and stepped inside.

Mr. Simmons pulled the door shut behind him. Coulson and Bobbi waited until he returned to the enormous black leather corporate throne of a chair behind his desk before they sat down themselves, and Bridget moved to stand at her father’s shoulder. “What’s this about? Is Jemma in some kind of trouble?” He let out a disgusted snort. “Hardly a surprise if she is - wasting the expensive education and natural brilliance her mother and I gave her traipsing about the States blowing up balloons and hiring bands for dot-com millionaires, hedge fund bankers, and other assorted nouveau riche. Two PhD’s before she was eighteen, and she might as well have gone to beauty school for all the use she’s putting them to.”

Bobbi raised her eyebrows. Coulson nodded. “Mr. Simmons, when was the last time you or anyone in your family heard from Jemma?”

Mr. Simmons sat back a bit in his chair. “I’d say about six weeks ago. I told her if she didn’t quit flitting about and get a real job, she shouldn’t bother coming home for Christmas. Haven’t heard from her since, so I suppose I’ve gotten my answer. There’s your duty for you - no concern at all about her duty to her family.”

“I’d been emailing with her for a couple of weeks after that,” Bridget said. “But it’s been at least a month since she’s responded to me.”

Coulson pulled a slim, black leather wallet out of his coat pocket, opened it with his thumb, and laid it on Mr. Simmons’ desk, pushing it across. Mr. Simmons leaned forward to peer at it, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

“Your daughter’s badge.” 

“Badge?” He picked it up like it was a curious artifact. “Badge for what?”

Coulson kept his voice calm and even. “Jemma hasn’t been entirely honest with you, Mr. Simmons. The fact is, she hasn’t been working as a corporate party planner. She’s a SHIELD agent.”

“What, like a spy?” Bridget said. “That’s ridiculous…Jemma couldn’t be a spy, she’d be awful at it!”

“No, actually, she’s surprisingly good at it,” Coulson said. “She’s also the head of my base’s science operation and in line to head SHIELD’s entire science division; she’s a valuable member of my special operations team; and as of just over four weeks ago…” Coulson paused for a second. “It is my unhappy duty to inform you, Mr. Simmons, that as of just over four weeks ago, your daughter Jemma is missing in action.”

Jemma’s father stared at Coulson for a long moment, and then turned to Bobbi. “Is this a joke?”

Bobbi shook her head. “No, sir. I’m sorry, it’s not.”

He shook his head. He didn’t seem to be able to stop. “I don’t understand. You must be mistaken. What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense.” 

Bridget glared at Coulson. “Now look, I don’t know what right you think you have to waltz in here and try to fill my father’s head with these little fictions…”

Coulson was unmoved by her glare. “We recruited Jemma while she was finishing up her second PhD. She came to the States to enter our Academy of Science and Technology. She graduated three years ahead of schedule and applied for field duty rather than lab duty. That’s how she came to be on my special ops team.” 

“No.” Bridget said. “No, you’ve got it wrong - she went to the States for a long vacation after finishing up her degrees, and she liked it so much she got that job planning parties so she could extend her visa and apply for a green card. She wanted dual citizenship. But it takes a long time, doesn’t it? Your immigration system is a nightmare, and it takes forever to get a green card.” 

Coulson opened up Jemma’s personnel file, pulled out her green card, and laid it on the desk next to her badge. “Jemma’s been a dual citizen since just before she started field duty. Her employment with SHIELD helped to expedite her paperwork.”

“Either that’s a forgery, or you have the wrong Jemma Simmons. As a matter of fact, before the last argument she’d had with you, Dad, Jemma told me she’d taken a permanent position with Stark Industries, and that they were going to help her get residency status.”

In a strangely quiet voice, Mr. Simmons said, “Tony Stark works for you…doesn’t he, Mr. Coulson?”

“Sometimes. It’s not unusual for our agents to tell their families they work for Stark. It’s a stable company; they’re doing more socially conscious work now. Families can feel good about what their loved ones are doing.” 

“But you’re wrong,” Bridget insisted. “My sister wouldn’t lie to us about a thing like this. Why would she lie to us?”

“To keep you safe,” Bobbi said, her voice terse. “You and your father - you hold positions of significant power in one of the largest and wealthiest corporations in the world. That makes you high-value targets to any number of SHIELD’s enemies. The less you knew about Jemma’s career with us, the better protected you were. You both follow the news - surely you know about our recent unpleasantness. If it had been known that you were related to a SHIELD agent, who knows what could have happened to you. Jemma probably saved your lives, and you didn’t even know it.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Bridget said. She said it like she deeply needed to believe it.

“It makes perfect sense,” Mr. Simmons said. He put a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes for a moment. “It all makes perfect sense now.” He took a deep breath, dropped his hand, lifted his chin, and looked Coulson in the eye. “You said Jemma was missing. What’s happened to her?”

“You remember the incidents in Greenwich, just last year?”

Both Mr. Simmons and his daughter nodded. 

“One of Jemma’s main areas of study has been alien artifacts, technologies, and biologies. SHIELD has several objects of alien origin in it’s possession. Jemma was…taken…by one of these objects.”

Bridget glanced at her father, who frowned a confused frown at Coulson. “What do you mean, ‘taken’?”

“We brought surveillance video of the incident. I have to warn you - it’s very disturbing to watch. But if you want to see it, we’ll show it to you.”

Bridget’s grip on her father’s shoulder tightened just a bit. He put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Show us,” he said.

Bobbi stood up, pulling a tablet out of her satchel. She tapped on the screen, laid the tablet down on the desk, and pushed play. When the moment came, Bridget let out a horrified gasp, her free hand flying to cover her mouth. Mr. Simmons remained stone-faced, but his grip on his daughter’s other hand visibly tightened.

“It ate her,” Bridget whispered.

Coulson shook his head. “We don’t think so. We believe it’s a portal. We’re just not sure where it leads.”

“But you can get her back?” Mr. Simmons said. 

“I have my very best people working on it,” Coulson said. 

Bridget pulled her hand out of her father’s grasp. “Excuse me,” she said, all but running from the room.

Bobbi stood up. “I’ll go make sure she’s okay,” she said, and followed her out.

When the door closed, Mr. Simmons said, “If my Jemma was working for you, Mr. Coulson, she was your ‘very best people’. You’ll pardon me if I have some concerns about how well the rest of your team is performing without her.”

Coulson nodded. “Those are valid concerns. She isn’t completely without peer, though - her work partner is to engineering what Jemma is to biochemistry. Brilliant, quick-thinking, over-achieving…they met at the Academy, and he graduated early, just like she did. They’ve been partners ever since. Believe me when I say he is completely dedicated to bringing Jemma home.”

“He fancies her…is that what you’re saying?” Mr. Simmons asked.

“He cares about her very much. She’s his best friend in the world.”

Mr. Simmons nodded. “Do you have children, Mr. Coulson?”

Coulson shook his head. “I do not.”

He nodded again. “You know, Jemma never rebelled,” he said, his voice toned down, almost lethargic. “Bridget went through a prolonged phase where she wore nothing but black, and dyed her hair with grape Kool-Aid. My son took up rugby and brawling in pubs just to torture his poor mother with black eyes and calls from the police. But Jemma never did anything like that. She took such joy in achieving…”

“She still does,” Coulson said.

“It’s occurred to me just now that maybe this has been her rebellion. Her moving to the States and joining your organization - this has been the rebellious stage that I thought she’d skipped. It’s so easy to love your children when they’re little; and easier still to love them as adults - they’re such marvels as adults - you just watch them and see your own parents and grandparents…generations of your personal history distilled into these few amazing individuals. It’s bloody difficult to love them when they’re rebelling - they’re actively trying to break your heart. You can see the little child who needed you trying so desperately to not need you. You can see the adult that they’re trying to become and how perilous that adult’s survival is - so much can go wrong; so many things can throw that adult off the path…” He paused for a long moment. “I’m looking forward to meeting Jemma as a woman in her thirties, Mr. Coulson. I hope someday to meet Jemma as an aunt, or as a married person, or even as a parent herself.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen, Mr. Simmons. You have my word.”

—

Bobbi grabbed a bottle of water from the receptionist and headed into the ladies room. When she got there, Bridget was at the sink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Bobbi opened the water bottle and handed it to Bridget, leaning back against the long counter of sinks. 

“Thanks,” Bridget said quietly. She took a short sip.

Bobbi nodded. “I threw up the first time I saw it, too.”

“The first time?”

“Yeah…I go over it a couple of times a day. I keep hoping I’ll see something I’ve missed. Something that will help us figure out what happened.”

“A bloody space rock ate my sister - that’s what happened.” Bridget took another drink of water. “I need something stronger,” she said.

“Finish the water first,” Bobbi said. “You know, that wasn’t bullshit in there about the portal. All the evidence points to that being what that thing is. We just have to figure out where it leads and why it took Jemma.”

“Why would it take Jemma?” Bridget asked. “I mean, why her? Was she just a convenient target?”

Bobbi shrugged. “She’s been doing quite a bit of research into alien life here on Earth. It’s possible that something she learned attracted attention.”

“Something she wasn’t supposed to know…?”

“Or something she was…some piece of information that she’d scratched the surface of, and whoever or whatever is on the other side wanted to expand her understanding.”

Bridget sighed. “All this time I thought she was frittering her life away. What else don’t I know about my sister?”

“I can’t answer that,” Bobbi said. “But I can tell you about how she went undercover for three months, got burned, and how she and I had to run for our lives. I can tell you about how she snuck a vitally important piece of intelligence right out from under my nose; or about how I would have died if she hadn’t been there to patch me up and pull a bullet out of me, right here.” She pointed to the spot where her scars were still healing, fingertips barely touching it. “I can tell you about the friends she tried to help, or about the friend who’s death she still mourns.” She cocked her head. “I can tell you about the time she knocked me out cold.”

Bridget’s eyebrows shot up. “Jemma knocked you out?”

Bobbi nodded. “I walked right into it, too. She pretended she was looking through some storage bin for a prototype…something. She handed me one little electronic thingy, dug around in the bin some more, handed me another little electronic thingy, and when the two of them touched - zap. Next thing I knew I was lying on the floor and it was an hour later.”

Bridget stifled a giggle.

“I still don’t know what the hell those things were,” Bobbi said with a smile, “But they sure did the trick.”

Bridget smiled back, but for just a moment. “Is she happy?”

“She’s getting there. She’s been through hell. She’s cheated death more than once. But she’s challenged. She’s fulfilled. She knows what she’s doing makes a difference in the world. Still working on happy, but she’s getting there.”

Bridget nodded, her eyebrows furrowed together. “Is there a…is there a Mr. Fitz that she’s friendly with?”

“Yes…you could say that she’s friendly with Fitz. Did she tell you about him?”

“I was nagging her about not having a social life. She said she had a gentleman friend she was spending a lot of time with. What’s he like?”

“He’s her partner, actually - has been since the Academy. He’s an engineer - Scottish, easy on the eyes, ridiculously smart…”

“As smart as Jemma?”

“Almost.” Bobbi grinned. “They’re so close they were even name-smooshed for a while. You know, like the tabloids do with celebrities?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Fitzsimmons.”

Bridget laughed Jemma’s laugh. “Why does he get to go first?”

“Simmonsfitz doesn’t really flow off the tongue as easily.”

“No, I suppose not.” Bridget stilled. “Is he the one you have looking for her?”

Bobbi nodded. “He’d be looking for her whether we tasked him to or not. He’s barely slept since it happened. He spends all his time in that room, trying to figure out how to get her back.” She reached out and laid her hand on Bridget’s arm. “If Jemma can be found, Fitz will find her. Or he’ll die trying.”

There was a long, silent moment. “Well. I suppose I’ve made enough of a spectacle of myself for one day.” Bridget took another sip of water, and looked at herself in the mirror. She ran her thumbs under her eyes and said, “How’s my mascara?”

“You look fine,” Bobbi said. “But I’m sure no one would blame you if you went home and spent the afternoon in your pajamas drinking tequila out of the bottle.”

Bridget smiled a small smile. “I’m a Simmons, Agent Morse - we don’t falter, we carry on.”

“Of course,” Bobbi said.

“Also, it’s Scotch, not tequila. We are British, you know.”

Bobbi laughed. “Oh, of course, My bad.”

—

It was late when the Quinjet brought them home. Daisy was in pajamas when they came around the corner, carrying a pillow and a couple of blankets. She stopped, hand on the door to the room where it happened. Through the scribbles on the windows, Coulson could just make out Fitz, sitting on the floor with his back against the box the rock was contained in, his head drooping forward like a toddler just moments after he’s insisted that he isn’t tired at all. 

“Hey,” said Daisy. “How’d it go?”

Coulson and Bobbi looked at each other. “Kinda better than I thought it would,” Coulson said. 

“Yeah, I though so too,” Bobbi said with a nod. “How’d it go here today?”

Daisy didn’t smile. “About the same as it has been. Weaver crashed a couple of hours ago. Fitz is powering down. I was just taking him these so he doesn’t have to sleep on the concrete.”

“When was the last time Fitz slept in his bunk?” Coulson asked. 

“I legit couldn’t tell ya,” Daisy said. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll volunteer to go in there and dust or something.”

Coulson and Bobbi both smiled. “You’re a good friend,” Bobbi said.

“Well,” Daisy said, “Simmons will kill me if she thinks I haven’t taken care of Fitz for her while she’s been gone.” She paused for a moment. “Because she’s coming back, is what I’m saying.”

“Of course she is,” Coulson said. He reached out and patted her shoulder. “Good night, Skye. See you in the morning.”

“Daisy.” Bobbi and Daisy said it in unison.

“Dammit…” muttered Coulson. 

Daisy grinned. “We’re gonna have, like, a dozen pizza parties on the contents of that jar! Best idea ever.” She pushed through the door. They watched her for a moment as she knelt down next to Fitz, laid the pillow and one of the blankets on the floor, and eased him down to lie on them.

Bobbi pulled a dollar out of her pocket. “You’re stopping by the jar on the way to your bunk?”

“Guess I have to now,” Coulson said, taking her dollar. “Good night, Agent Morse.”

“Good night, Boss.”

Coulson took his time walking through the half-dark base. He stopped in the common room, folded Bobbi’s dollar in half lengthwise, and pushed it into the slot cut in the jar’s lid. He took out his own wallet - no ones left; he’d dropped the last two he had into the jar before he left for London. He shrugged and pulled out a five - might as well pay ahead of time for future screw-ups - and put it in the jar. 

When he got to his quarters, he tugged his tie open - not all the way undone, just enough to pull it off over his head. He took off his coat and unbuttoned his cuffs. He toed his shoes off and unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his shirt. There were no more appearances to be kept up today. He laid down on his bunk in his white dress shirt and his suit trousers - scandalous behavior in some parts of the world, but who could care anymore. The hand that wasn’t there anymore throbbed in pain. May hadn’t miraculously come back while he’d been away, and his gut twisted over her continued absence. He’d spent his afternoon half a world away breaking a father’s heart, so he laid down on his bunk, felt the pain in his missing hand and the burning in his gut, closed his eyes, and didn’t fall asleep.


End file.
